


The Wedding Gift

by Janina, mynameisnoneya



Series: At Her Majesty's Service [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousins, Emotional Healing, F/M, Family Feels, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Jaime Lannister Lives, Jaime Lannister Redemption, Jon Snow Knows Something, Light Angst, Marriage, Moving On, No Smut, Post-Canon, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28217232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: While the ladies in waiting dote on her as she prepares for the biggest day of her life, Sansa smiles at her reflection in the looking glass.  The sundry women are like bees buzzing about a hive, all restless and eager to please their queen.  They need not worry, though.  There is nothing anyone in this world can do that would please their queen more than what is about to take place.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark
Series: At Her Majesty's Service [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002744
Comments: 27
Kudos: 67





	The Wedding Gift

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the thirteenth and final edition to the series, _At Her Majesty's Service_ , a collaborative effort by mynameisnoneya and Janina. It can be read on its own, but we recommend reading it after the other ten previous works to help it all make sense!
> 
> Please note that we made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - we own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let us know by leaving comments and kudos!

While the ladies in waiting dote on her as she prepares for the biggest day of her life, Sansa smiles at her reflection in the looking glass. The sundry women are like bees buzzing about a hive, all restless and eager to please their queen. They need not worry, though. There is nothing anyone in this world can do that would please their queen more than what is about to take place.

She cannot do much else but smile like a fool while they dress her, the many hands working all at once to lace and to button and to smooth the fabric of her wedding dress. It would not really matter if she were alone, she would still be grinning from ear to ear for in just a few short moments, she will be making her way through the darkness of the night toward the godswood where the man she loves will be waiting for her in front of the weirwood heart tree. It will not be much longer until she can bear witness before the Old Gods that she is his, and he is hers.

Two moons have passed since the night Jaime proposed to her after the great feast thrown to build relations with the lords of the north, yet it seems just like yesterday. If she closes her eyes, she can transport herself through time and space to the very moment – the very _instant_ – he asked her to accept him as her husband. The sheer joy radiating from him when she said yes scorched her to her soul, filling her heart with such intense happiness that even now as she daydreams about him, a fire burns low inside her gut. And when she remembers their coupling which followed suit – the raw passion and unyielding adoration that they shared –the embers erupt into flames. Perhaps one day, a ballad will be written in their honor.

Sansa almost giggles at the thought, but she catches herself, steadying herself and straightening her back as the finishing touches to her hair are completed. Whether she looks the part of the blushing bride she does not care because she is ready for this moment. So ready in fact, that she had begged Jaime to say their vows the morning after his proposal.

Thankfully, Jaime was the level-headed one that day, giving sage advice that they should wait until they could have a wedding which not only her family and closest friends could attend but also the lords of the various houses from all over Westeros. Jaime understood her goal was unity, not division, among the people. Marrying hastily and in secret would only add insult to injury and spark countless rumors, so he had advised. Sadly, it would not have mattered in the grand scheme of things. The northern lords’ hackles were raised the instant they received word that the Queen of the North was taking a Lannister as her royal consort. Although a good many supported her pending vows without hesitation, many did not.

It is of no consequence to her what anyone thinks. They can bellyache all they want. It is not the first time one of her decisions has been questioned, nor will it be the last. The lords and ladies at court will have to learn to accept the fact that from this day forward, Jaime will be by her side, advising her and guiding her and supporting her whether they approve of him or not.

No one can dissuade her from marrying Jaime Lannister.

No one.

Sansa’s reverie is broken when one of the handmaidens catches a knot in her hair with the brush, and she winces in pain at the sharp pull. The young woman’s hands immediately fly to her sides while she dips into an apologetic curtsey, her nervous eyes boring holes into the wood floor.

“It is alright,” Sansa says, patting the young woman on the shoulder. “It was an accident. No harm done.” Her ginger brows furrow when the rest of the ladies in waiting and handmaidens in the room mirror the young woman’s posture. Everyone has stilled where they stand, and she is puzzled by the sudden hush that has overcome her chambers. It is as if the women present expect her to rage at the poor girl for something so trivial. 

“Sansa,” Jon’s voice from behind her echoes within her chambers. “May I have a word with you?”

Her bright eyes widen when she catches sight of Jon in her looking glass. He has crept in unannounced, and she is both surprised and pleased that he is standing just inside the doorway, dressed in his finest jerkin with the family crest and his sword hanging from his belt.

“Certainly, Jon,” she answers with a nod. At once she rises to her feet and dismisses her courtiers, and as the lot of them vanish outside her chambers, Sansa smiles softly at her cousin. “Please. Come in.”

He nods in return as he enters, shutting the door behind him. As he faces her once again, the corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re absolutely radiant. You remind me of your mother in that color.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks burn from his praise, and as she clasps her hands in front of her pale blue gown, she searches his face for any indication of what he is about to say. He says nothing as he slowly steps toward her, but even though the awkward silence hanging in the air makes her uncomfortable, she will gladly endure it.

At least Jon wants to speak to her, which is a small step in the right direction seeing how he has not really spoken to her over these last few months since she told him that she had chosen another. There have been polite nods and greetings and a few brief conversations here and there, but he has remained resolute in his detachment, lurking about the halls of Winterfell and hiding in his chambers when not dining with Sam or venting his frustration on some hapless squire in the training yard. Jon lives like a ghost, making only brief appearances from time to time before disappearing into the shadows once again.

She does not blame him for keeping his distance, however. She knows he is hurting. She knows he is struggling. She takes small comfort in the fact that at least he has not abandoned their ancestral home for the Wall like he said he would at first. She clings to the hope that somehow, someday, they will be able to move forward, that she and Jon will cultivate their bond as cousins so they can be a family once again.

Jon stands an arm’s length from her now, and when he inhales and exhales deeply, she braces herself for whatever it is that he has come to say.

“Forgive me for not coming to you sooner,” he begins. “I wanted to see you, but . . .”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Jon.” Her lips curl slightly at the corner. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He smiles, staring down at his boots while rocking back and forth on his heels. “Always the peacemaker, eh?”

They share a small laugh at his jest, and once again, the room is quiet. His gaze lifts suddenly, and the way his gray eyes search her face for something she knows not what quickens her pulse. She wants to say something to fill the silence, but she reminds herself to be patient and let Jon lead.

“It seems like yesterday you and I were mere children running amok through these halls,” he says softly. 

Sansa smiles. “It does.”

“Sometimes, though,” he continues, “it feels like a lifetime ago. Like I’ve lived a thousand lives between then and now.”

“We both have experienced quite a journey to get to where we are today.”

Her smile wanes when his gaze wanders along the silken fabric of her wedding garment, wondering if this is the part where he tells her how stupid she is for marrying Jaime or how selfish she is to want a man who her own people do not yet fully accept. She is astonished when he says nothing of the sort – the exact opposite, in fact.

“I will not pretend to understand how you fell in love with him, but it is not for me to judge,” he begins. “Finding true love is a rare gift, not one to be treated lightly or ignored. Perhaps if I had been a wiser man, things would have turned out differently for me. For us.”

“Jon . . . I . . .”

“Please, Sansa. Let me finish.”

She closes her mouth and nods, bracing herself for whatever comes next.

“You cannot change what happened any more than I can. What is done is done. I bear you no ill will, Sansa, and I will not stand in your way. Not now. Not ever.” Jon swallows hard then, reaching out to take her hand, which she gives freely in return. “You deserve happiness, cousin,” he says with a gentle squeeze, “and if Jaime is the man who can bring it to you, then you have my blessing. Not that you need it, of course. You never did. But you have it all the same.”

She almost knocks him off his feet when she flings herself into his arms, cradling his neck and burrowing into it as tears sting her eyes. She remembers the day she returned home to Winterfell and saw him for the first time in years. It is the first time in an exceedingly long time she has been able to remember that moment without the pangs of regret.

“Easy, now!” Jon chuckles, pulling back enough so he can look at her. “I don’t want to get the womenfolk up in arms at me because I rumpled your dress.”

She is laughing uncontrollably now, giddy and light-headed. “Hang my dress – I’ll hug my cousin as much as I want!” Their embrace goes on and on, the two locked together in a connection of peace at last. Neither wants to separate, but the time to do so comes when they hear knocking at Sansa’s chamber door.

“Your Grace?” one of the ladies in waiting calls out to her.

“Yes?”

“It is time.”

“I’ll be right there.”

It is Jon who pulls away first, stepping back but still holding her hands in his. His eyes are glistening, but he keeps his emotions under control. “One more thing,” he says, offering a true and honest smile.

“What is it?”

“May I have the honor of presenting you tonight?”

She gasps in both shock and delight.

“I promise not to embarrass you too badly. I even asked Sam to help me practice what to say.”

“Oh, Jon!” Again, she is clinging to him, and he chuckles under her weight.

“We’d best be going. It is bloody cold out there. Wouldn’t want that husband of yours to die from frost bite, now would I?”

She throws her head back and laughs with all her might, releasing all the tension she has been holding onto for months now. Jon smiles at her again, and she says a prayer to the old gods that one day, he will find the same happiness she has found. He offers her his arm, and together they exit her chambers. She ignores the hushed tittering among the handmaidens as she and Jon pass by.

_Let them talk. Let all of them talk. I do not care._

Arms linked, together they walk through the halls of Winterfell, nodding politely as the people bow and curtsey. It is as if she is floating on a cloud while Jon escorts her out of the castle toward the godswood. Night has fallen whilst she was getting dressed and was speaking with her cousin, and now as they make their way along the snow-covered path, they are engulfed in the bright flames burning from the torches the wedding guests carry with them as the follow.

She says nothing as she approaches the sacred weirwood, her voice betraying her when she sees Jaime standing by the face carved into its trunk ages before. He catches her eyes immediately, and she would swear to the Seven that he just might faint at the sight of her being presented to him by his rival. There is no time for explanations, so she instead offers a reassuring smile, hoping he will understand well enough. Thankfully, he grins at her then at Jon, giving her cousin a slight nod of acknowledgement. She feels Jon’s hand tighten on her arm for the briefest of moments before he returns the gentlemanly gesture to her soon-to-be husband.

The guests surround her and Jon once they have arrived, and she drinks in the scene about to unfold. Bran is in his wheeled chair next to Jaime, who insisted that her younger brother be the one to take the role normally held by the groom’s father. Jaime explained it seemed fitting that the boy he once tried to destroy in order to protect the Lannisters would be the one to allow a Lannister to enter union with House Stark. She could not have agreed more.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Bran asks solemnly. 

“Sansa, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed,” Jon announces, his deep voice cutting through the quiet of the forest. “A queen, trueborn and noble. She stands here tonight to beg the blessing of the Gods.” He pauses as he looks into her eyes, and for the first time since she does not know when, Jon looks at peace. “Who comes to claim her?”

Jaime steps forward, a mischievous smirk in place. “Jaime, of House Lannister . . . or what’s left of it, rather. . . heir to Casterly Rock, the ancestral home I wish not to claim now that I’ve developed quite an affinity for ice and snow.” He shoots a devious wink at her, knowing full well he embellished the lines he memorized for tonight. She is not angry, merely amused by his sense of humor, shaking her head at him and grinning uncontrollably. “Who gives her?”

“Jon,” he replies, “of the House Stark, who was her father’s ward.” He squeezes Sansa’s hand and offers her a mournful smile. She swallows hard, squeezing his hand in return. She is thankful that Jon is here with her tonight.

“Your Grace,” Bran asks, “do you take this man?”

Her eyes meet Jaime’s, and her heart about bursts with joy. He is wearing the same red leather jacket and black cloak he wore the day he rode into Winterfell, and she loves him even more since it is exactly what she had asked him to wear for the occasion. Those clothes are what he wore the day he stood before her and the rest of her house, pledging himself to her so that he might reclaim his honor by fighting to defend her and her people.

She will never forget that day.

_Never._

“I take this man,” she answers. She casts one final look at Jon, who nods and offers a soft smile. Smiling in return, she steps forward and releases his arm. When Jaime offers her his good hand, she slips her fingers into his. They look at nothing or no one else while Sam, who is officiating the wedding ceremony at her request, sniffles and snuffles as he tries to get through the ceremony without crying. As the ritual comes to its completion, she breaks down herself.

“I love you,” she manages to squeak before a tear runs down her cheek.

“I love you, too,” Jaime whispers. And when he finally stoops to kiss her, his lips melding with hers, she is finally home. When he pulls back and the crowd of onlookers surge toward them to extend their congratulations, Sansa can barely contain her excitement. She longs to be alone with Jaime, locked away in the privacy of her chambers, not only to lay with him for the first time as his wife but also to bestow her wedding gift. She has waited so long to tell him, it is almost too much to bear keeping it a secret. She resolves to hold her tongue even through the wedding feast, determined not to reveal what she is desperate to share until it is just the two of them.

For Sansa, the rest of the night is a complete blur, the clamor of the musicians and the merriment of the guests as they dine and chatter going in one ear and out the other. She is winded from dancing and exhausted from royal duties. All she wants to do is make her excuses and whisk away her husband to their chambers before she is too tired to do anything else but fall face-first into the furs.

Scanning the Great Hall where the feast is taking place, she searches for Jaime, who less-than-willingly agreed to dance with one of the northern lords’ wives. The older woman continually steps on his toes as she talks non-stop, but he holds his tongue and smiles away, pretending to care about whatever it is she is prattling on about. As the lively tune continues, he looks up and catches his newly wedded wife watching him from her seat at the head table, and when he rolls his green eyes at her over the top of his dance partner’s head, it is all Sansa can do not to burst into a fit of the giggles.

“ . . . would be honored to host a feast in your honor, Your Grace,” she hears one of the northern lords say while he stands before her with his wife at her table.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she answers quickly without even looking at him, her focus on Jaime and Jaime alone. She has had enough waiting. She needs to be with him. She needs to tell him.

Abruptly she rises to her feet, the music screeching to a halt, all present rising now that their queen has. “Lord Royce,” she calls out to the older man standing next to the head table as well, “it is time for me to retire. Please see to the festivities in my absence.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Lord Royce says with a slight bow.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she continues as she turns her attention toward the wedding guests. “Thank you, everyone, for your presences here tonight. Please, continue to enjoy yourselves. I am weary from a long day, and I wish to retire to my chambers.” With a polite nod she curtsies and steps around the table. All bow or curtsey and bid her good night, but she does not truly hear them. She is waiting for Jaime to come to her, and thankfully he is quick about it.

“Couldn’t wait to get me alone, eh?” he whispers in her ear as they walk arm-in-arm down the long corridor to the queen’s chambers.

She leans into him, exhaling deeply. “You have no idea.”

He laughs at her sincerity but says nothing further until they are behind closed doors.

“Leave us,” he orders the gaggle of handmaidens who are at the ready and waiting to prepare their queen for bed. “I will undress my wife tonight.” The startled group of young women scatter like rats, scurrying out of the room with Jaime chasing behind them. As he slams the heavy wooden door shut, Sansa cannot contain her laughter.

“I do believe I am not the only one who could wait no longer,” she says.

“You have no idea,” he answers, his voice deep and raspy. He is behind her in an instant, nuzzling her neck before fumbling with the intricate lacing of her gown. “Fuck,” he growls at the back of her dress, “I really should have thought it through before I dismissed the ladies so quickly.”

“I can easily call them back in a moment, but first . . .” Turning around, her hands take hold of his, ceasing his efforts to undress her, and she almost laughs again at the dumbfounded expression on his face. “I have a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise? For me?”

She nods.

He smiles from ear to ear. “You didn’t have to get me anything, love. You’re all the wedding gift I’ll ever need.”

She is charmed by his praise, the heat flushing her cheeks. “To be fair, though, you’re the one who’s given it to _me_ , actually.”

His blond brows almost touch. “I don’t understand.”

She is nervous and giddy and too excited to speak. Taking his good hand in hers, she places it on her stomach, and without words, she watches him closely. A moment or two passes before his brows loosen and his green eyes blow wide.

“Are you . . . surely, you cannot mean . . .”

She simply nods.

He gasps. “You’re with child?”

“I am.” Her lips curl and curl as Jaime absorbs what she is telling him. “I asked Sam to visit me a couple of days ago, and he confirmed what I already suspected.”

Before she can finish, he has scooped her up into his arms, and she yelps in surprise as he twirls her about the room.

“Jaime!” she shouts and laughs all at once. “Put me down!” When he slides her onto her bed – _their_ bed – he pounces. His kisses come fast and hard, and she can hardly breathe from his onslaught. Finally he pauses, rearing back to study her.

“You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” he murmurs, blinking hard to control himself. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Jaime,” she says, stroking his cheek.

He looks away then, gazing at her stomach for a few moments before he bends down to place a soft kiss there as well. “And I love you, little one,” he speaks to her belly, stroking it over the fabric of her gown. “You will want for nothing, and I will protect you and your mother with everything that I am. You are my world, you and your mum.” He cannot refrain any longer, and when he cries, Sansa holds his face between both hands.

“You’ll be an amazing father,” she whispers.

“Not nearly as amazing as their mother.”

When Jaime buries his face into her neck, holding onto her like he will never let go, Sansa wraps her arms around him, allowing him to grieve for the children he could never love as his own. She is happy that it is she who will give him the chance to become the father he could never be _._ With her, he will be able to love his sons and daughters as his own, to hold them in his arms and to teach them what a father’s love should truly be. This child was made in love – _their_ love. 

Sansa smiles and closes her eyes as she snuggles her husband, thanking the old gods for bringing this man into her life and for allowing her to give him the best wedding gift she could have possibly imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge, huge thank you to all the folks out there who have read our story. Your comments, gifs, and kudos have made this collaborative effort worth every minute spent writing it! Sharing our story has been a wild, delightful journey for both of us, and we hope to one day share future joint fics with you as well. You are the best! - Janina & Mynameisnoneya


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